


When It Spills

by HannahLydia



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Atlas CEO Rhys, Confessions, Denial of Feelings, Humiliation, Jack's back in the flesh, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Rhys is a sassy disaster, Rival CEOs, Unhealthy Relationships, and being a little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: “Please stop talking,” Rhys heard himself object, his fists tightening so hard they were shaking.“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit anerve, Rhysie? You know what I think? I think you got waaa-aaay too used to having me around. It’s like youactuallyconvinced yourself you couldbesomebody when-- the truth is, cupcake, you’re nothing. You’llneverbe me, pal. You can dress yourself however you want, slick your hair just right, head up whatever frickin’ company you want, but at the end of it all, you’re just a jumped-up code monkey who tripped at the finish line. Jus’-- help me out here- remind me exactly why I should give a shit about you at all?”Against his better judgement, Rhys has let slip how he feels about Jack. The humiliation that follows is almost enough to make him regret it. Almost.





	When It Spills

**Author's Note:**

> Follows on from my post-TFTBL 'Jack's Back' headcanon which I still have yet to write up into a fic, but I intend to. 
> 
> (Hyperion have had Jack's body on-ice/in-stasis following the events of BL2, hoping to resuscitate him but failing each time. They decide to revive him by installing his AI back into his body, but the only problem is that it was thought to be destroyed in the fall of Helios. After kidnapping and torturing information out of Rhys, he discovers the plot and leads Hyperion on a wild goose chase after Nakayama's lost research. Meanwhile he liberates Jack's body and installs/revives him himself, reasoning that if Jack's coming back anyway then he needs some leverage. Jack is WELL aware that Rhys effectively 'butted in' to save his own skin, but he's actually surprised he didn't just sabotage the project, so they're operating under a kind of truce as a result. Also, the longer Jack is back in his body, the more his AI starts merging with his actual consciousness so he's not JUST a program anymore, he's _back_ and in every sense of the word.) 
> 
> TLDR; Jack's back in the flesh. Rhys digs him even more, despite a little thing called Common Sense.  
> I'm thinking this will be a two-chapter fic but they'll work as standalone pieces too. Rated Explicit for the potential contents of chapter two~

 

Rhys was standing in the centre of Handsome Jack's office - his  _new_ office, no thanks to him - and wishing the ground would just swallow him whole.   
His face was burning as he watched his rival _crease_ with laughter; Jack was even clutching ahold of his desk with one hand for support, as if it was the funniest damn joke he'd heard in his entire life.  
Except it wasn't a joke. It was very, very real.   
Despite all reason, despite everything that had told him not to, Rhys had just let slip the one damn secret he'd been certain he would take to his grave. Blabbed it like a frustrated teenager, right in the middle of a heated debate, without even realising he was doing it.

His own words were taunting him now, promising to humiliate him for years to come. _If_ he even lived that long.   
_**Why** do you always have to be such a dick? I--  **like** you, okay? And here I thought you actually-- a-ctually might feel remotely similar. _

God, what an idiot. What an idiot with a death wish.

Sassing the president of Hyperion was never the best idea; you could have been airlocked for far less back up on Helios. Besides that, those were words you could _not_ take back, much as Rhys considered objecting "no homo" and making a hasty retreat.  

Jack had been rigid at first, of course. Eyes wide, caught halfway between mirth and anger, deciding whether to be pissed at the confession or amused by it. Hilarity had inevitably won, but Rhys was beginning to think that the shame was worse than a quick and merciful death.   
Now Jack was hysterical, slapping his thighs and all. “Oh, Rhysie, you’re so _stupi--_ aaa-hahahaha!” He broke off into a cacophony of howling, sadistic laughter. “-- _stupid!_ You really thought tha--?! _Me_? AAAhahahaha!! Oh, this is freakin' priceless!”

Tears. The CEO had actual tears.

It wasn't long before Rhys' posture began to wilt. He tried his hardest to maintain a straight poker face but he felt his own facial muscles betraying him, felt the familiar tug of a frown at his lips as his eyebrows ascended. It was the expression of someone who didn’t know any better - crushed, shocked - but he _did_ know better. He always had.

Playing out his hysteria with his usual bravado, Jack covered his face with one hand, stooping as if he were about to double over. Rhys followed every exaggerated bob of his shoulders, every shake of his head.   
“Cupcake, _c’me on._ The only man I’m interested in is the one I see in the _goddamn freakin' mirror!_ ”

Rhys' pout became a taut line as he clenched his fists at his sides. Each peal of laughter was another fresh stab in the chest. He silently willed Jack to take a breather, to be serious for a minute, but it was no use. He was too busy reminding him that he was Straight with a capital 'S'.   
_Asshole._

If Rhys hadn't been so wound up with embarrassment, then he might have implemented his ECHOeye and searched for a distraction - could have overloaded Jack's computer or messed with the lights to spite him. He could still access Hyperion's sub-systems, even with the new golden lens of his. He had the sneakiest of suspicions that Jack was aware of it too, but he was too angry now to sweep the room for a way out. The shame was boiling within him and converting to rage.  
He thought about looking at anything in the room except for Jack, but to do so felt like a weakness of some kind. It meant giving in, admitting defeat and showing just how much it hurt. Rhys wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead he kept staring at him as if standing his ground, but Jack hadn’t yet met his eyes, hadn’t yet stopped laughing.  
_Overcompensating for something?_ Rhys wondered, but it was wishful thinking and he knew it.

What had he expected? That bringing Jack back would actually _change_ anything? That he’d be so indebted to him for ‘giving him his life back’ that he would learn to actually give a damn about him? Hell, _thank_ him? Jack didn't know how to thank anyone except himself.   

> ' _Oh, Rhys, you’re my heeee-ro~'_

Lip curling, Rhys swatted the memory away like a bug. No, he'd known better than to expect a reaction like  _that_. He’d known the risks, he’d gambled. He supposed that, despite it all, he'd really thought he’d meant _something_ to him, he just didn’t know what. Facing up to the realisation that he wasn't anything at all? It felt like his stomach was plummeting. 

The way he saw it, he had limited options. When it ceased to be funny, Jack would question why Rhys was still there or he would lose it. Both were equally likely.  
What did Rhys have to gain by standing here and glowering? Whining about it wasn’t going to solve anything, and socking Jack across the face would likely get him killed.   
Raising his hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose, Rhys sucked in a steadying breath before turning for the door. Five or so strides and he’d be out of here, away from the annoying, boyish snickering of his former boss. He made it two paces-- and then the laughing stopped.

“Hey. Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” Jack sounded genuinely surprised, the humour newly absent from his tone.   
Fixed on the path ahead, Rhys rolled his eyes but didn’t falter. “Leaving you to your-- whatever this is. I have better places to be, Jack,” The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider the repercussions. He was too pent up, too mortified to consider that he had his back turned on a maniac, one who had more than a few reasons to want him dead.

 _SHHF._  
He looked up with a start at the sound, only to watch as the sliding metal door a mere foot or so away from him slid to a close and sealed tight. Jack must have pressed a button on his desk, securing the only way in and out. He was locking him  _in_ here with him.   
Ordinarily _,_ anxiety would have blossomed thick and fast in Rhys' chest. A younger him might have been closing the short distance to start hammering on the door, but he listened to the booming locking mechanism with a detached coolness. 

Jack's voice was low, ominously thrumming from across the room. “Oh, _hell no._ You don’t get to walk out on me, kiddo,” Then his footsteps were approaching, the soles of his sneakers muffled by the tiled floor but nevertheless audible due to the sheer _pace_. He crossed the office at speed, as if he needed to quickly pen Rhys in and not as if he had nowhere else to go.   
The younger man, however, was ready to face him. He turned, clawing his hands in frustration. “Would you just _listen to yourself_?! He shot back.   
Rough hands connected with the edges of his vest, fisting in them tight and slamming him back against the door. The impact hit him across the shoulder blades and upper back, a prism of pain dissipating just as soon as it had appeared, but not without knocking the air from his lungs first.

“Nng--” Rhys grit his teeth, tensing up in Jack's grip rather than struggling to free himself. “Let me go, asshole,”  
“Rule one, sweetheart. Never turn your back on me unless you want a freakin’ knife in it,” Jack's expression was wild, murderous. The frown contorting his mask was becoming a snarl, his brows low over his eyes. It was hard to believe he had been the same man laughing himself into a stupor moments ago at Rhys’ expense, when he was now accusing him of some unspoken betrayal. It was as if he had no concept of the consequences of his actions, but that was furthest from the truth given his penchant for manipulation. For a man who could predict his enemy’s movements long before they themselves performed them, Jack was blind to the reactions he incited in his nearest and dearest.

Rhys wasn't going to put up with it for a second more. He hadn't been truly afraid of him for a long time, not since he'd cut him out of his own body with his bare hands. He raised his chin, glaring back at him with equal intensity. “Give me a _break_. I’m not gonna _stand_ there while you bust a gut at my expense,”  
“You _owe_ me princess. That’s one big ol’ corporation just handed to you on a plate,”  
“And you have your _life_ back because of me!” 

For a fraction of a second there was something in Jack’s eyes - disbelief, if not a kind of pleasant surprise. His eyes widened, frown softening; he couldn’t believe his threat had not only fallen flat but was being _countered_.  
As soon as Rhys had registered his reaction, Jack’s expression shifted again. His scowl evolved into a wolfish smile. When he spoke next it was with deadly patience, as if talking to an ignorant child.   
“So you beat Hyperion to it, huh, kiddo? Well congratu-frickin’-lations. It’s cute that you think you did me a favour, but don’t think for a minute that if you hadn’t it would have changed anythin’. I was coming _back_ , baby, one way or another. You think you were the only one willin’ to do it? I’m practically a _god_ to these people. _You,_ on the other hand… you weren’t shit on your own.”

“Please stop talking,” Rhys heard himself object, his fists tightening so hard they were shaking. No matter how steely he tried to sound, no matter how commanding, it came out like an exasperated, browbeaten request.  
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit a _nerve_ , Rhysie? You know what I think? I think you got waaa-aaay too used to having me around. It’s like you _actually_ convinced yourself you could _be_ somebody when-- the truth is, cupcake, you’re nothing. You’ll _never_ be me, pal. You can dress yourself however you want, slick your hair just right, head up whatever frickin’ company you want, but at the end of it all, you’re just a jumped-up code monkey who tripped at the finish line. Jus’-- help me out here _-_ remind me exactly why I should give a shit about you at all?”

Rhys’ shame and anger exploded, white-hot, inside of him. Face-to-face with Jack’s smugness, and the condescending words that he cast out like bullets or bait, he couldn’t tell which, only served to set off a chain-reaction within him. All that he had been bottling away rushed to the surface, snapping free, his instincts seizing total command of the moment. Clamping hold of Jack’s forearms, Rhys dragged his embittered gaze from the older man’s cruel eyes to his curled lips, before closing the gap between them, hard and fast. It wasn’t his fist that drove forward in self-defence. Instead his mouth roughly latched onto his in a desperate, furious attempt to prove _something_ , consequences be damned. He allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, to fall into it, but Jack’s lips were a firm, immovable line, tense against the unexpected act. He shoved Rhys back against the door, almost lifting him off of his feet, but - to both of their surprise - Jack didn’t pull away. He came _with_ him.

 _Fuck… fuck,_ ** _fuck…_** The sensation of the hard surface digging into his back once more had Rhys plummeting back down to reality, and reality was a square, oppressive box.  
Right now he was locked in an office with his former boss and tormentor, who was, by all accounts, definitely Not Gay™, and a maniacal tyrant who didn’t take kindly to his perfectly constructed sense-of-self being challenged.  
Dread coiled within him, until the image of Jack throttling him was clearer than the possibility of his feelings being requited. And so Rhys disconnected first, withdrawing from the fierce kiss. It was a moment before he felt brave enough to open his eyes and gauge Jack’s reaction - and how long he had left to live. He was surprised to see that Jack’s disparate eyes were not fixed on him, but were cast down to where he was clutching hold of him, focused on his own large hands. Contemplating how to rip him apart with them, no doubt.

Rhys swallowed, his own hands releasing their hold only to hover in the air either side of him. All the anger he had been holding onto had been more or less spent.    
“J-Jack…” He began hoarsely, the apology and nerves prevalent in his voice.

Those blue and green eyes flit upwards instantly, trained on him, thunderous.

 _This is it,_ Rhys thought with impending dread. _This is the part where he rips your throat out. This is what you get for making a move on Handsome god-damned Jack._

Sure enough, one of the hands that had been fisted in the fabric of his vest released, flexed and then closed around Rhys’ throat. Pinned to the door, Rhys tipped his head back, his Adam’s Apple bobbing beneath Jack’s palm as he backed up what little he could.  
The elder man’s grip tightened, holding him faster against the door. Then, lip curled, Jack lunged forwards, his mouth crashing against his.

“Mmf--!”

The kiss was ferocious, clawing, greedy. Rhys’ lips had been subtly parted, and Jack took full advantage, slipping his tongue within, probing, while Rhys was too shocked to react. Then, when the realisation hit, he didn’t so much relax into it as throw himself back. Adrenaline pumping, he could hear his own blood roaring in his ears as he returned the CEO’s kiss. His hands, which had been suspended dumbly, now latched in Jack’s hair. If he minded, he didn’t stop to tell him so.

His aftershave was sharp and heady, an earthy yet citrus mix, reeking of all things _expensive._ It was probably something custom; ‘ _HERO’_ by Handsome Jack. It mingled with the smell of leather and the taste of the mojito he'd knocked back when Rhys had first entered his office, mint and bittersweet on his tongue. Combined they were an aphrodisiac that overwhelmed Rhys’ senses.    
It didn’t feel like he was kissing a mask. It was supple and warm, articulated as with any face. The science and design of it escaped him - he’d expected it to be a solid construction but the contact was practically skin-on-skin. Maybe this should have alarmed him, but with Jack’s tongue wrestling his and the pad of his thumb tracing the line of his throat, Rhys let out a subtle, breathy moan against his lips.

The moment he leant forward, as if to deepen and dominate the kiss, Jack retaliated, thrusting Rhys back so that he reconnected hard with the office door. He then crushed their bodies close together, taking no prisoners, and it was all Rhys could do not to buck his hips in return. Jack's free hand was roaming, untucking Rhys' shirt from his pants. As his palm slid up underneath, Rhys heard himself gasping, audible as the kiss became sloppier, open-mouthed.   
What was happening right now? This was Handsome Jack. _The_ Handsome Jack. The thrill sent shockwaves through Rhys' body, pooling in his stomach, blood rushing to his crotch.   
He moaned again when Jack bit down on his lip, dragging it between his teeth and sucking, hard enough to make it swell, for the pain to be registered as pleasure.

God, this was the build-up to every wet dream Rhys had been having for the past few months. It was so good, so _intense_ , that he thought he might just come right here in his pants if Jack were to grind against him just right. Except of course he didn't, because Jack was soon breaking away, their foreheads barely touching as he withdrew. 

“Fuck…”

At first Rhys had thought the expletive had been his, until he registered that he was too breathless to speak and the voice was not his own.  
Jack was still tracing his throat with his thumb, and the expression on his face made Rhys’ pants feel all-together too tight. That grin was the same wolfish smile from before, except now it was wickedly perverse. There was intent there, and Rhys’ face and neck began to burn at the sight of it.  
_What is he--?  
_ The hand beneath his shirt went south.

Rhys’ breath caught in his throat as Jack palmed the bulge in his pants, laughing while he did it. “That all it takes, pumpkin? Cute. Reeeal cute. You’re friggin’ _desperate_ , aren’t ya?”

 _Gr-Great..._  
To be found out like this only added to Rhys' humiliation. Just when he half-expected to become the butt of Jack's jokes once more, the older man relinquished his hold on him all together.  
Now that he was no longer being forcibly pressed up against the door, Rhys deflated back against it and released the breath he’d been holding. His legs felt weak beneath him, as if he were structurally unsafe and would keel over at any minute.  
One kiss. One kiss and he was a shaking mess with gelatine legs and a tented crotch like some hormone-addled teenager. _Christ…_

Jack had stepped back enough to take him in, head subtly tipped, his hands balled into loose fists at his hips as he looked Rhys up and down, considering. The only indication that anything had just happened between them was Rhys' untucked shirt and the tussle to Jack’s usually perfect hair, a fact that made Rhys gulp.  
His face felt as if it were on fire. Was he blushing? He had no way of telling just how _vulnerable_ he looked right now but, try as he might to recover, it was too late. Jack had already seen just how much a simple kiss had affected him.

“You got it bad, Rhysie,” He observed with a mischievous smile, flashing his too-white teeth. “And here I thought - you an’ me - we’re just a couple of hot executives, y’know, that women would throw themselves at. Emphasis on the _women_ ,”  
“Yeah, well--” Rhys had found his voice somehow. He straightened, barely able to look at Jack directly as he ran a hand back through his hair. “Shit happens, Jack. I didn’t ask to feel like this,” And he meant it sincerely, in spite of that hotter-than-hell kiss. 

Jack's brow furrowed, expression twisting into one of bemused anger. “Why the fuck not, Rhys?I mean-- _look at me_ ,”

And look at him he did. Falling into the trap of gazing at Handsome Jack, Hyperion poster boy, all cock-sure and full of himself. Too fucking handsome for his own good.   
Rhys knew  _why_ he felt like he did, but that didn't mean he'd invited that sensation in. Anyone with an ounce of common sense knew why falling for a megalomanic serial killer was probably not the cleverest idea. If he could've taken his feelings out the back and shot them, he would have done. 

Tired of Jack blowing hot and cold, Rhys began kneading the back of his neck irritably. “Why would _anyone_ want to fall for you, Jack? You’re--”  
He trailed off, in part because he realised he shouldn't say what he wanted to but mainly because he'd said the 'f' word, which _naturally_  implied the 'l' word. _Shit._ Rhys swallowed his tongue, and hoped that Jack didn't notice. 

He'd been about to tell him what he really thought of him. That he was like the damn sun, and he'd burn up anyone who got too close. After all, how many of his friends, family and lovers were left standing at this point? He'd wait.  
Having any kind of attachment to Handsome Jack was to sign your own death warrant. To admit this, though, was just going to rub salt in the wound. There was no quicker way to piss off the man himself than to mention everyone he'd ever cared about was six feet under. 

Rhys cleared his throat and tried again, switching tactics. “-- you--- … you only care about yourself,” 

Jack snorted. He didn't consider Rhys' hesitation nor self-correction, much to his relief. As if bored with the conversation, he folded his arms and began restlessly pacing his office. Rhys had already noted that he seemed to like consistency because the layout was impeccably similar to his office on Helios. Before it had ended up scattered across the badlands, at least.  
“First of all, I’m gonna do you a favour an’ ignore that little outburst. Second? _Trust me_ , buddy. It’s the safest way to be,”  
_And the loneliest,_ Rhys thought bitterly, but knew the sentiment would be shot down if he dared say so out loud. Instead he smoothed down his rumpled clothes, silently begging his erection to hurry up and soften already.

Now that Jack had his back turned, occasionally looking at his desk and then looking away again, Rhys wondered if he was deciding whether to release the door.   
Should he feel relieved or disappointed at the idea of being dismissed? If he left now, would what happened between them only ever stay in this room and never be mentioned again? He couldn't be sure.   
Rhys cleared his throat again, ready to tuck his shirt back into his pants. “... A-Are we done here?” He asked, playing it cool and feigning indifference. When Jack caught his eye, Rhys' cybernetic hand stilled, shirt-tail still in his grip. 

“Uh. _Are_ we? You tell me, princess. I gotta say, I was kinda expecting more after that little-- distraction.”

 _'More'?_  
Oh. _Ohh~_    
Rhys couldn't help the very satisfied smile that began tugging at his lips. He imagined Vaughn giving him a discrete low-five right now, even though he wasn't sure his best friend would still approve of him banging their old boss. Probably given the fact that Jack had already tried to kill him at least twice, but-- well, that was in the past. _Firmly_ in the past. 

Confident that if Jack was going to kill him then he'd have done it already, Rhys knew he could afford to be more brazen.   
“I’m sorry," He said in a flighty, _flirty_  tone. "I thought you weren’t into men?”

Jack's smile matched his own. If he didn't like Rhys sassing him then he shouldn't look so damn pleased about it whenever he did. “Call it what you like, cupcake. Daddy’s a busy man - got places to be, people to do, that sorta thing. You wanna be coy about it? That's _fine_. You don’t get to change my mind,”

 _Change his-- mind_?  
Rhys corrected his earlier statement: _this_ was the build-up to every one of his wet-dreams; the opening chapter to the jerk-off material he'd cultivated during those lonely nights at Atlas. He sucked in a breath, staring at Jack incredulously as if he daren't believe. “You--? You're serious?”

Whether it was the dumb question or the equally dumb look on his face, Jack groaned, patience wearing thin. “God, you’re so stupid, kiddo...  _Get over here_ ,”

Rhys half-jumped, half-yelped at the command in his voice. He did as he was told, the back-bone he'd grown temporarily shelved. It was only when he began to move that he realised Jack had paced towards the couch. The big,  _accommodating_  L-shaped couch. The erection that Rhys had been willing away now began to spring back to life at the sight of it. 

Pointing to the longest side of the sofa, Jack gestured for Rhys to take a seat. "You'd better plant your ass down, sweetheart," He instructed, righting his mussed hair. "That is, unless y' want to head back to your little day job. You want out, cupcake?"

Rhys shook his head as he lowered himself down. No. No, he did _not_ want to go back to Atlas right now. He was utterly transfixed, staring at Jack like he was trapped in the middle of the most wonderful day-dream. He would have pinched himself, except that he didn't want to make it too obvious this was literally a fantasy come to life.  

Jack frowned at him, raising an eyebrow. "Out loud, princess,"

Though he hadn't been working for him for a quite a while, and despite the fact that he had lost most of his hero-worship the instant he'd tried to shove an endo-skeleton inside of him, Rhys heard himself stammering out in deference. "N-No, sir,"  
The title had slipped from his lips like a dirty word. They were on equal footing now - both presidents of their own companies and not boss-and-employee - so where the 'sir' had come from was beyond him. The frustrated, ballsy man that had confessed to liking him had been replaced instead by a submissive, eager one that had been snared hook, line and sinker. 

Jack tilted forwards, one of his hands moving to curl around Rhys' chin while the other remained perched on his own hip. His splayed fingers were tantalisingly close to the edges of his belt buckle. 

Looking up into those hungry eyes, Rhys didn't think it was possible for Jack to smile any wider.

" _Atta boy..._ " 


End file.
